


Knowing When to Shut Up

by baranduin



Series: Courtyard of the White Tree [8]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-Courtyard of the White Tree fic, set in Umbar. They have not made love in a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing When to Shut Up

Faramir looked down, so far down, at Frodo spread beneath him, the hobbit's thighs pushed wide apart.

"Too much?" he muttered hoarsely.

Frodo whispered something, his lips drawn back tight, feral teeth white and sharp. "A little … just a little. A minute …"

Oh, it was a long, long minute as Faramir stayed propped up on shaking arms, his cock halfway home, only halfway. But he was good; he would not force it, never that. It was just that it had been so long since they had been together like this, so long that he couldn't remember exactly when … some time before March. No. Early March, before the illness had claimed Frodo again, claimed them both for black sweat-filled days and even blacker nights of restless tossing and turning and seeking. He closed his eyes, the darkness red and hot before his eyelids. Oh, he wanted wanted wanted. Just to push. Hard.

"All right."

His eyes snapped open and Frodo lay smiling up at him, tender lips full and wanting and open … breathing hard with desire now, not effort. "All right."

Faramir married his thrusts to the hiss of Frodo's intakes of breath. Or was it the other way round? By rights it should have been all over after one thrust or two or a dozen at the most, but it wasn't.

Afterwards, Frodo retrieved a wash cloth so matter of factly and cleaned them both with such quick efficient swipes that Faramir's heart sank, the disappointment a bitter knot in his belly. Frodo hadn't really wanted to do it, had acquiesced just to please him—not that either of them would say anything. Oh, but he would this time; he would find the words this time and grit out one by one that he wanted no pity lovemaking. Though he lived his days in exile, still he was a proud son of Gondor and had not fallen so low as to need this from Frodo … this … charity. He worked out what he was going to say while Frodo doused the light and curled into Faramir's arms, resting his head on Faramir's shoulder, the scent of their lovemaking surrounding them as surely as the soft blankets that he pulled snug.

_Just say it. Say it and have done._ He would have, he told himself later, but he hesitated—_so warm, so soft, don't ruin it_—and Frodo beat him to it.

"You know what always amazes me?" He stopped to give the man a quick lick on his collar bone before he continued, and a quick lick did not give Faramir nearly enough time to say anything, much less embark on the little martyr's speech he'd concocted. "The way I can always feel it when you're almost there … I can tell. And when you come … I can feel that too, you know. I love it." A sharp nip followed by a long yawn made Faramir smile up at the ceiling. "It's been too long since we've done this. Let's not wait so long again … I won't always break, you know."

Faramir pulled Frodo closer and murmured against his damp hair, "I know, love."


End file.
